Hello Strangers.
This week’s dream is to be able to pay for dinner.
There is something so human about cooking a meal. The feeling of the knife we use to chop vegetables, the searing meat, the way spices stain our hands and the aromas that bloom in the hot kitchen. An hour into the process, another person appears and sits at the kitchen counter. Maybe they help, maybe you talk. And then together, we sit, both tired, and we eat. To cook as an act of love, meditation, and habit, and then to eat with someone you love is an experience that enriches the inner lives of human beings. And I’ll write more about that, but this week’s dream is to be able to pay for dinner instead.
Last week we were sitting in church and the pastor preached on 1st Peter 3:8. Now, there was a specific message in both that verse and in the pastor’s heart that day, but for some reason, as he spoke it made me ask myself the question,
“What do I want to give?”
In my mind I saw someone crying, and another person putting their arm around them and leading them inside a shop. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I romanticize noodle shops like nothing else. So, on this dismal looking, imaginary day amidst rain and dark skies, there was a golden bright spot. As I watched the narrative continue, two bowls of soup were set in front of them, and the crying girl was still crying. Her body folded inward on itself, eyes wide and wet, her elbows pressed into her thighs under the table, her hair tangled by the rain. I realize now that she looked a lot like me. I was also the one who’d taken her to the shop, and from outside I could only see my back, but it was my trench coat. Both girls were me.
But I knew which one would pay for dinner.
I thought of what it’s like to be a child going out to lunch with their family. Growing up, my dad has always paid. There came a time when I realized that money was being spent and attempted to be conscientious of my part in that, but I never questioned who would pay. It was my dad. Because I knew who was taking responsibility for the bill, I could eat without worry, not having to think about how much it would cost me, if I could afford food for the whole group or just myself, or anything else. It was safe, I was safe, and I could relax.
Every single person I have ever met has had a pain that they carried. Food is just one of the ways we ease that. Sometimes making the food is the order of the day, but sometimes it’s best to simply pay for dinner and let someone else feel safe. Lord willing, there will come a time when I get to do that, and the time will come that I’ll need someone to do that for me as well. After all, I was both of the girls in the shop.
Here’s to the noodle shops,
–Mabel
To All My Strangers 